I’m hating on myself right now. I hate the way I look. I hate the shape of my face.
I know I’m not supposed to do this. I’m supposed to treat myself the way I’d treat a friend. But every time I pass a mirror, I go, “Oh, God, how did this happen?”
Not out loud. No, I never hate on myself in front of my kids. I know better. Yet somehow I don’t know better than to do it to myself.
I should read The Shift when I feel this way. It’s upstairs. I should get off my butt and get it. People with more self-compassion do better at weight loss.
But I just can’t look in a mirror right now and see the beauty. I know some other people can, but not me. Of course, I don’t really see it when I’m skinny, either. All I see are flaws. Things that need to be improved. I blame my mother.
It’s easier to blame a dead person than step up and accept responsibility for my problems.
Probably the thing that needs improvement is my attitude. My mindset. It’s not the end of the world if I have a breakout. I should be grateful for what I have. Yadda yadda yadda.
I think I’m feeling negative because of the time of month. I suddenly get weepy or sad for no reason, then I realize what it is. It’s been that way since I was 12.
Also, I have a headache.
No Sherrie tomorrow. The men will be forced to talk to the likes of me. NOOOOOOOOOO! Heeheehee.
I get a kick out of myself in spite of my shortcomings.